


Written in Water

by tealiqhts



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: AU - College, AU - Roommates, Abuse, Alternate Universe, Bad First Impressions, Bad Pasts, Exes, Fluff & Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Iwaizumi is Protective, Light Bondage, M/M, Manipulation, Misconstrued Feelings, Non-Consensual, Oikawa is Irresistible, Porn With Plot, Prostitution, Romance, Sensual Sensitivity, Slow Build, Smut, Taken Advantage of, Terrible Rumors, These dorks, Warped Ways of Thinking, Worry & Care, and Oikawa Needs Protection, enjoy all you sinners, mention of rape, some violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-05-23 16:54:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6123205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tealiqhts/pseuds/tealiqhts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were a lot of things Iwaizumi was expecting from his first year in university (more freedom, less worry, and a helluva lot of stress surely took the top spots in his checklist) but a cocky, pompous, idiotic, clingy, bad-tempered, <em>prostituting</em> roommate was not what he had in mind.</p><p>Good god.</p><p>But through bloody noses and nostalgic nightmares, midnight meals and messy bedheads, awkward situations and even awkwarder encounters with certain grudge-holding exes, Iwaizumi comes to learn that there are just some things (some <em>people</em>) that can't be left alone. </p><p>Even someone as annoying as Oikawa Tooru.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. King

**Author's Note:**

> this AU was inspired by something I read so long ago -- I don't even remember what happens in it/what fandom it was/what it was even called, but I get the gist of it I think ?? -- because it was inevitable, basically.
> 
> for what I have planned, I'm hoping it'll be as interesting to you as it is to me.

Iwaizumi knows for a fact, no questions asked, that he looks like fresh kill from the darkest pits of hell because he feels like it, too. 

His hair is sopping wet, drooping down uncomfortably close to his face (he likes his hair short for a reason, dammit) and his clothes are in no better condition either. With every step he takes, his t-shirt sticks to him and Iwaizumi has to repeatedly pull at the hem of the collar with cold fingers to peel it off his cold skin with an even  _ colder _ scowl warping his face. 

God, this  _ sucks.  _ If any of the guys from Seijou saw him right now, he’d never hear the end of it. They were all a bunch of loudmouths anyways. 

_ Though, hearing their voices right now wouldn't be so bad either... _

Iwaizumi scowls, readjusting the bag on his shoulder. Not that he's nostalgic or sentimental or anything, but their annoying voices would at least be a helluva lot better than hearing the sound of the pounding rain outside. Damn Mother Nature.

As another droplet or two plops from his hair to his nose, Iwaizumi looks around a bit. One would think the college’s food court would be packed due to the sudden rain (tornado) outside, but apparently that isn’t the case. Only a few other students chat at the tables or stand in line looking at the small menus the university offers-- and half of them are soaking wet as well. Surprisingly, they don’t seem to notice too much. 

Iwaizumi grinds his teeth, looking away as he continues to walk aimlessly. At least he doesn’t look too out-of-place, though he sure as hell feels like it. Hopefully he won't have to get used to all this.

As he approaches a table in the corner of the building, Iwaizumi shrugs off his shoulder bag and falls back onto one of the wooden chairs, exhaling sharply. For a moment, he simply rests. Feet throbbing (who knew you need to walk so damn much around campuses?) and thoroughly soaked (the weather station needs to recheck their calculations every once in a while, damn), Iwaizumi contemplates if he really truly  _ seriously  _ needs an education. This doesn’t seem worth it at all, dammit.  He’s only been here a few hours; they don’t have any classes today, so-- dare he say it-- he was, in a strange sort of way,  _ excited _ to take a look around-- to meet some new people, take a look at the scenery, and start moving into his dorm. College is supposed to be the time of your life, isn’t it?

Iwaizumi takes another glance out the window and scowls at the rain. Those plans have been thoroughly stampeded over.

Jaw working, Iwaizumi bounces his leg in impatience. In any case, he might as well make use of this time and call his parents; his mom was all bent over how his first day would go. Well, does he have a story for her. 

Iwaizumi reaches over to rummage through his wet bag (thank god he doesn’t have any textbooks yet) but when he finally pulls out his phone, he has to bite his tongue to stop an unearthly, dangerous sound from climbing up the back of this throat. 

_ Waterlogged _ , Iwaizumi thinks bitterly, throwing his useless phone on the table. It clatters and clangs, a bit of water seeping from the cracks in it. Of course. 

Iwaizumi squeezes his eyes shut, rubbing at the back of his neck. Luck is clearly not on his side today. Now what is he supposed to do when he practically can’t even communicate with  _ anyone _ ? Really, it’s hard enough leaving home to go to college anyways--

“Ah, your phone, too?”

Iwaizumi peeks open an eye. In front of him, across the table, stands a rather tall guy. He’s as wet as wet can get, and his short brown hair clings to him too-- as well as everything else on his body. Iwaizumi snorts a little bit, closing his eyes again but giving a nod of agreement. At least it looks like there’s someone else who’s in as worse shape as he is. 

“Damn, this sucks. This rain is gonna take its sweet time, too.” The student clucks his tongue as he looks out the window, then turns to look back at Iwaizumi with a bored sigh.

“Mind if I join you?” he asks, though he’s already begun to set down his things and pull out a chair. Doesn’t matter, really. Iwaizumi was going to say yes anyways. 

“Sure,” Iwaizumi mumbles, finally opening his eyes. He runs a hand through his hair, looking out the window himself. “It’s always better to be miserable with someone else.”

“Tell me about it,” the other mutters. 

And then they sit in silence for a while after that, and somehow that works just fine. There's not much to say after all. They’re not adults  _ yet,  _ so they don't need to waste breath talking about the weather (not anymore at least), or their hometowns, or their finances. Obviously this guy is a first-year as well, otherwise he’d probably be in much better condition; more prepared and all that. At least, that’s what Iwaizumi assumes. 

“Oh,” the stranger suddenly says as if he’d forgotten something so simple, and he leans forward to reach a hand across the table. “Matsukawa Issei, by the way.”

Iwazumi takes the hand. “Iwaizumi Hajime.”

They sit back again, a seemingly better atmosphere in the air despite everything so far (though neither of them say anything about it because what's the point, the day’s already ruined).

“So, is it right to assume you’re a first year, too?” Matsukawa asks, drumming his fingers on the table’s edge. Iwaizumi grunts in response. 

“Yes. You?”

“Same.”

“Hm.”

Matsukawa watches him for a moment, then lets out a little snort. 

“Not much of the talkative type, huh?” he asks. Iwaizumi looks his way skeptically.

“Is that a problem?” Iwaizumi says, but Matsukawa waves it off.

“Nah, it's fine.” He pauses, working his jaw. “I'm the same, anyways.”

_ Cool? Neat? Thanks for sharing? _

Iwaizumi isn't sure how to answer, so he doesn't. Instead he pulls out the folded piece of paper from his back pocket, only the edges being a little damp. There isn't much on it-- an example of a schedule, a small map of the campus, and a few things about his personal information-- but at least it's something to focus on. 

“Huh,” Matsukawa says, watching Iwaizumi absentmindedly. “Is that the paper they gave us in the central building?”

“Mm.”

“You know who your roommate is? A friend or something?”

“Nope,” Iwaizumi mutters, working his jaw. “I don't know anyone here. Everyone back at Seijoh-- my school, I mean-- went to the local college together or some shit.”

Those last few words roll off his tongue a little more bitterly for a reason Iwaizumi doesn't understand, so he ignores it. He is the one who chose to come to this university, after all. Mulling that over, Iwaizumi readjusts the paper in his hand, squinting to read the small font. 

“Looks like I'm in the East Building and rooming with a…” He looks closer. “...Oikawa Tooru.”

Suddenly there's a loud clatter, enough to shake the table, and Iwaizumi looks up to see Matsukawa wide-eyed and stiff. The guy must've hit his knee or foot or something on the table, though something close to surprise outweighs pain on his face. Yet besides only knowing him for (literally) a few minutes, Iwaizumi can tell he isn’t the type of guy to wear that expression often. Dubious, Iwaizumi raises a brow. 

“What?”

“Oikawa Tooru…” Matsukawa repeats, but in a slow-like way that has him drawing out every syllable carefully. “As in, the first-year Oikawa Tooru?  _ Here _ ?”

“Uhm.” Iwaizumi watches him closely. “Yes, I'm... pretty sure I pronounced it right.”

Matsukawa makes a strange, unwavering eye contact for a solid ten seconds (what the fuck), then looks away, leaning back in his chair with a smile on his face that just screams ‘Hey, I know something you don’t!’ and it immediately sets Iwaizumi over the edge. He scowls.

“What is it?” Iwaizumi snaps, and Matsukawa lets out a humorless chuckle.

“Nothing, really,” he waves off. “Just… expect an  _ interesting _ first year here-- though I don't think it'll be too bad. You don't look like the type that, uh, ‘swings that way’, if you know what I mean.”

Iwaizumi blinks once, twice, then forces back down the irritation that has already begun to climb up his chest. This person makes no sense, dammit.

“What are you talking about?” he says instead. Matsukawa sighs, then glances back at him.

“Look,” he begins indifferently, as if even the act of talking about this subject is a waste of his breath. It pisses Iwaizumi off to no end. “If this is the same guy we’re talking about, this ‘Oikawa Tooru’…  _ got around _ at his high school. I mean, I wasn't attending the same school as him, but information like that spreads like wildfire to schools who were nearby. They say he has a new toy practically every other day-- be it guy  _ or _ girl.”

As Iwaizumi watches him with empty eyes (because God dammit if this is a joke, it isn't funny in any way, shape, or form), Matsukawa chuckles again. 

“And-- get this--” Matsukawa shoots him a suggestive look, obvious humor in his eyes. “I've heard that he comes cheap, too.” 

He laughs again. Iwaizumi stares.

“In fact, his clients always set the price, no questions asked. They just leave a note with their name and few bucks stapled on it and leave it in whatever secret place he designates as his ‘mailbox’ and bam!-- you got yourself a hot night guaranteed.”

As Matsukawa happily explains this information, Iwaizumi sighs, looking away. 

“I'm rooming with a prostitute,” he mutters. “Great start to the year.”

“Well, not ‘prostitute’ per say,” Matsukawa quips. “He’d never call himself that-- the pompous prick he is-- especially since everyone considers him a ‘King’ in bed but…”

He laughs again-- as if this is the funniest shit in the world, god dammit-- and says, “More like, he’s simply making profit from his  _ services _ .”

Iwaizumi damnnear growls.

“You're saying this as if it's a joke.”

“It's pretty fucking funny, I won't lie.”

“How the fuck is this funny?”

“I mean, what're the odds that the first guy I meet is the roommate of  _ the  _ Oikawa Tooru, of all people?” Matsukawa wipes a fake tear from his eye, most definitely just to see the reaction of Iwaizumi, and that fact both pisses off and comforts the latter. It's almost,  _ almost _ as if he's met someone (not a friend, definitely not a friend, this guy is obviously a fucking sadist) worth his while.

“But hey,” Matsukawa continues with a smirk and a wink, “if you're ever in need of an outlet, you just have to look across the room! Isn't that just convenient!”

_ Almost  _ worth his while.

Iwaizumi kicks Matsukawa’s shin under the table-- not too harshly (they're not that close yet) but enough to send a message. Matsukawa barks in pain, but the stupid smile still sits on his face. Iwaizumi scowls.

“Oi, don't worry about it too much,” Matsukawa says happily, reaching for his bag. “Maybe he’s changed, you never know.”

“And maybe I'll be the damn king of Scots.”

“That's no way to look it at.”

Iwaizumi glares up at him dubiously, as Matsukawa has already shrugged his jacket back on and is slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Easy for you to say. And where do you think you're going? You can't just leave after telling me something like this, asshole.”

Matsukawa raises his brows. “Well would you rather  _ me _ told you, or you figure out yourself late one night in the comfort of your room?”

A good point. Iwaizumi clenches his teeth.

“And besides…”

Matsukawa flashes a smile made specifically for his personality-- annoying, cocky,  _ and _ unsympathetic-- and nods his chin toward a nearby window. 

“... rain’s stopped,” he says, giving a sort of salute as he begins to walk away. “I'm heading over to my dorm to check it out. You could too but, I mean… you know...”

Another smirk. Iwaizumi has never felt such a strong urge to throw his broken phone at someone’s head.

“Next time we meet, you'd better tell me how it went!” Matsukawa calls with a wave as he finally departs, heading further down the food court out of earshot. Iwaizumi watches him disappear into the small crowd of students, then looks down at the paper he holds in a white-knuckled grip.

_ Oikawa Tooru.  _

“You’re going to be one hell of a problem,” Iwaizumi mutters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops.
> 
> http://tealiqhts.tumblr.com


	2. Touché

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oikawa is ~~shitty~~ bipolar, Iwaizumi is short-tempered, and everything goes downhill from there.

By the time Iwaizumi had reached the East Building (this _is_ the East Building, right? Right? No no, it _has_ to be because he definitely followed the map correctly… maybe…) it had started drizzling once again. Luckily it wasn’t as bad as before-- the cloud’s must’ve run out of ammo, thank god-- so he had stepped beneath the underhang of the building in record time before his damp hair (no longer dripping) could droop down even further.

That was the first achievement, at least.

But now, as he climbs flight after flight of stairs, Iwaizumi’s scowl only grows deeper. Soaked and hungry and miserably _tired_. Those three attributes are the only things overflowing his mind and dammit, Iwaizumi will never speak lowly of college dropouts ever again.

As he finally (fucking finally) clears the last of the stairs, Iwaizumi begins the walk down one of the long hallways. His feet are just as tired as his mind probably due to all the physical _and_ mental stress, and as he continues to make his way through the building, the hallway only seems to get longer and longer. But eventually the numbers on the doors he passes are relatively close to the one he’s looking for, so it only takes a moment before he reaches his designated dormroom. Pulling a key out of his back pocket, Iwaizumi fumbles with the lock, opens the door, steps inside and…

_… Wow._

Thoughts at a complete standstill, the bag slides off his shoulder, clunking to the floor as he looks around. Though, really, there isn’t much to see. Small doesn’t even begin to describe the size of the room. They could, at best, be able to cram only about fifteen people in it. Great. But then again, that’s not considering the furniture, either.

A couch sits on one end of the room, while an unimpressive (yet still-pretty-good for a few first-year college students, Iwaizumi has to admit) TV faces it from the other end. Between them is a small coffee table, and shoved in the far corner are a few cabinets along with a mini-fridge and sink.

Nonetheless, there isn’t much decoration-- that’s to be expected-- but what surprises Iwaizumi the most when he turns his head is the _second_ room of the dorm. Hm. They must be lucky; only a few dorms in this university have multiple rooms, according to a few rumors. Well. At least _something_ positive has happened today.

Indifferent, Iwaizumi walks by the TV, through the doorway, and enters the second portion of the dorm. Two twin-size beds facing the doorway rest on either side of the room, and a rather large wardrobe lies between them. Only one of the beds has a window next to it-- as it is the one that overlooks the campus-- and it only takes half a millisecond for Iwaizumi to retrace his steps, grab his bag, and throw it on the bed farthest away from the window. Early bird gets the worm and all that. He’s always preferred it this way, and no way in hell is he going to let a half-witted prostitute tell him otherwise.

Speaking of that. Iwaizumi heads back to the entrance room, falling back on the couch as he pulls out the slip of paper in his pocket. It’s a little more crumpled than before he met that asshole Matsukawa in the dining hall, but all the information crammed on it is still legible. And yet, somehow…

Iwaizumi frowns, jaw working. No matter how hard he tries to ignore it, any and all of the words on the sheet fade out until only a very bright, very distracting, very _annoying_ **“Occupants of Room #1016: Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime”** stands out.

Dammit. Iwaizumi lets his head fall back on the cushion, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. At this point a migraine wouldn’t be too much of a surprise, considering how grand everything has been going so far. He doesn’t even have any meds, either. Great.

In all honesty, he should be grateful for being able to attend this university with a good future in mind, despite everything that might've already happened by the hands of Luck. Compared to some other schools, this college is one of the best around, and he should have nothing to complain about. But-- still, is it too much to ask for just _one damn thing to go right_ \--

Suddenly there’s a clang and a rustle. Iwaizumi doesn't react initially (probably just noisy neighbors, anyways), but then the doorknob shakes and Iwaizumi peeks open an eye just in time to see the front door fly open.

And, for a moment (only a moment), he can’t help it. He stares.

The figure standing in the doorway is a _trainwreck_. Nothing even remotely close to what Iwaizumi had expected from the vivid description Matsukawa had given earlier of his roommate, that Oikawa Tooru, because who else could this be? The guy’s clothes are rumpled and wet, his jacket is lazily falling off one of his shoulders, and his shoulderbag seems to have already ripped at one of the seams. His brown hair, which is obviously longer yet fluffier than Iwaizumi’s, is completely drenched and nearly covers all of his eyes (which, Iwaizumi happens to notice, are a soft, warm kind of brown color that almost, sorta reminds him of-- wait, no, that's not the point here, fuck).

Behind the incomer is a suitcase (geez, the thing is tiny-- does he really expect to get through the entire year with that little of belongings?) which he holds the handle of with one hand, and with the other hand he gives a small sort of wave accompanied by a bright grin.

“Ahh, you must be Iwaizumi-kun~!” he exclaims with a certain light in his eyes-- way too damn happy-sounding for someone in his position (or rather, his appearance), and Iwaizumi just _stares_.

“I hope you haven’t been here all alone too long,” he continues gleefully as he shuts the door behind him and Iwaizumi can’t tell if he’s intentionally ignoring the lack of response on Iwaizumi’s part or if he’s really just too oblivious to notice it. Either way, his mouth just keeps on running. “I was supposed to be here earlier after all, but the weather went crazy and I got caught up in it and it looks like you did too, huh? Kinda sucks for a first day if you ask me. My hair actually looked pretty decent before I came here, too...”

He pauses, a pout on his lips as he runs his free hand through his hair and pulls it back away from his eyes and wow, the guy’s face is carved and gentle and beautiful and everything meeting Iwaizumi’s exact expectations. Hm. He’s not surprised, really. You have to have some kind of charm to be in this person’s ‘line of work’, don't you? Iwaizumi chews on that thought for a while.

“I guess I’ll have to fix it later,” the incomer sighs. “But, anyways--”

He sets down his bags, reaches Iwaizumi in a matter of three steps thanks to the proximity of the room, and reaches out a hand with a warm kind of smile that strikes Iwaizumi’s warning bells in all the right places.

“Oikawa Tooru,” he says warmly. “Nice to finally meet you, Iwaizumi-kun.”

For a split second, just for a split second as he looks up into those expecting brown eyes and completely innocent face, Iwaizumi is hit hard with the urge to laugh. To just _laugh_ , because this entire situation is thoroughly and downright ridiculous and yet somehow it’s _still fucking happening_ to him out of all the seven billion people in the world. Christ.

But that urge is gone just as quickly as it came, and Iwaizumi takes the hand in his own.

“You too,” he says simply, because that’s the polite thing to do no matter how much he’s wondering where this hand could have possibly been these last few years. And he expects that to be the end of it, he expects that to be finally done with (thank god) until--

Oikawa abruptly breaks off the contact on his own accord. Iwaizumi’s empty hand lingers in the air for a second before he slowly pulls it back, looking at Oikawa with the ‘What the hell’s wrong with you?’ clearly written on his face.

But Oikawa hardly seems to notice. For a long, tense moment he looks down at Iwaizumi with eyes that seemed just a little brighter, a little _friendlier_ only a few seconds ago-- and he finally says in a low, dark sort of way:

“I see you’ve already heard of me, right, Iwaizumi-kun?”

His eyes flicker with those venomous words, accusing and defiant all at once, and Iwaizumi just-- he just--

_What?_

A flurry of emotions go through the room in a sudden blizzard, overwhelming Iwaizumi’s thoughts and leaving them uncomfortably blank, but one in particular stands above the rest: complete and utter confusion.

Maybe it’s the way Oikawa had said it (cocky and certain and even a little bit irritated, the bastard) or maybe it’s the way that what he said was absolutely true, but it immediately sets Iwaizumi on edge and he bites the bait before he can even see it.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Iwaizumi asks lowly, and Oikawa shoots him a smile that seems a little more plastic than before, shrugging as if uninterested but they both know that isn't the case. The tension in his shoulders screams otherwise.

“Exactly what I said, I suppose,” Oikawa replies. His tone is just as challenging but with a sprinkle of artificial calmness, and it sets the fire in Iwaizumi’s chest _flaming_. “You hesitated when you shook my hand.”

Iwaizumi scowls. “Hesitated? I didn’t hesit--”

“Yes, you did.”

Oikawa begins walking back towards his bags, shrugging off his jacket. Iwaizumi stares sharply and Oikawa doesn't spare him the acknowledgment. Instead, he sighs.

“Whether you choose to realize it or not, you did.” He glances back over his shoulder with empty eyes, an unbreakable expression. “I’m never wrong; that’s the first thing you should quickly learn, after all. Try to keep up as best as you can, and I’m sure we won’t have a problem.”

He smiles plastically, letting his jacket slide off his slim shoulders. “Touché?”

Absolute, serious, and completely confident.

_What the fuck?_

Iwaizumi, for the first time in a long, long time, is at a loss for words. He simply glares at Oikawa’s back as the latter begins to gather his belongings from the floor-- and then Oikawa turns around with yet another gleeful smile on his face (as if he wasn’t the crowned descendant of Satan just a few moments ago, what the hell?) and arms full of his belongings.

“Anyways!” Oikawa says chirpingly, choosing to ignore-- or pretending he doesn’t see-- the pure disgust on Iwaizumi’s face, “At least that’ll make things easier in the long run, don’t you think? Glad we got that out of the way. Oh-- are these our beds over here? How convenient~!”

And then he disappears in the second room, and Iwaizumi stares at nothing for a long, long while. If he’d known better, he might as well compare himself to a lowly dog, because apparently that’s all this Oikawa-Asshole sees when he looks at him.

_“That’s the first thing you should quickly learn, after all.”_

Haha, yeah, fuck him.

Iwaizumi is back on his feet, teeth clenched as he snatches back up his wet jacket. Rain, storm, tornado, even a damn tsunami can’t stop him from leaving the presence of this royal bastard. He’s not even sure where he’s going-- maybe he can finally find out what that building is on the map _clear on the other side of the campus_ \-- but he knows for a fact that he isn’t coming back anytime soon. Maybe he can find Matsukawa again and ask him to kindly tie his hands together before he does something he regrets--

“Oh, are you going out?” Oikawa asks, popping his head out from around the corner. A white towel is draped on his head where he was drying his hair. “Where to?”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Iwaizumi mutters, shoving his arm through his jacket sleeve with a little more force than necessary (does that count as asserting dominance?) but he’s past the point of caring. He’s leaving, now.

Oikawa steps around the second doorway, his own jacket in hand, just as Iwaizumi reaches for the doorknob.

“That’s okay, I guess,” Oikawa says with a yawn, giving his hair a final rub. Iwaizumi yanks open the door. “Since I have nothing better to do, I suppose I’ll join y--”

“No.”

As that word easily slips out his mouth, Iwaizumi fumbles through his pockets, making sure he has his key and his map and his _pride_.

“No,” he says again, “you can do whatever the hell you want to do, but I’d rather be alone. See you.”

And with that, Iwaizumi walks out, hearing the door close (slam) behind him. If he were the type of person to believe in ‘auras’ and shit, he’s pretty positive a dank cloud of pure blackness hangs around his head. And yet without delay he strides down the hallway with purpose, hands clenched in his pockets and a million different unhappy thoughts crossing his mind. If there’s anyone, _anyone_ who has ever managed to piss him off so easily-- so quickly--, he’s already met him and it couldn’t possibly get worse.

But then there’s a bang, a pair of footsteps coming from behind him, and Iwaizumi doesn’t have to even look to see who it is.

“Wait!”

“Don’t follow me.”

“Iwaizumi-kun.”

A hand clasps onto his forearm, pulling him to attention, and Iwaizumi turns to give Oikawa a dark look.

“What part of ‘alone’ did you not understand?” Iwaizumi says lowly, yanking out of the grasp. But something despicable keeps his feet rooted to the ground and Iwaizumi can’t tell if it’s because his body is finally breaking down (surprise, surprise) or if it’s the look in the other’s eyes. Hurt, almost, or maybe just a thorough confusion.

But Iwaizumi is miles-- no, _worlds_ \-- away from sympathy.

“I know, but-- Iwaizumi-kun,” Oikawa says, dropping his hand, “We’re roommates, aren’t we? And roommates should get along to the best of their ability, no matter what.”

He stands a little straighter, eyes a little harder.

“I’ve already decided we will and I will make certain we do, so I _will_ be joining you today.”

No offers, no apologies, no suggestions. Just ‘we will this’ and ‘we will that’ and Iwaizumi thinks he might as well get on all fours, wag his tail, and stick his tongue out as he follows Oikawa’s every command. ‘King in bed’ his ass. Looks like the royal demeanor makes its way from between the sheets, too.

Iwaizumi scoffs beneath his breath, looking down (thank god this asshole is a good inch shorter otherwise a train ticket back home might’ve been in order) at Oikawa’s face with an air of disbelief. He’ll say it once and he’ll probably say it a million times over but: Who the hell does this person think he is?

“And I’ll also ‘make certain’ we get something straight,” Iwaizumi advances. He towers over the other, face dark and taut, though Oikawa never breaks eye contact. As expected from a self-righteous king. Iwaizumi’s throat works dangerously.

“I don’t know where you came from or how you were treated before,” Iwaizumi mutters slowly, “but I’m not under your command. You keep to your side of the room and I’ll keep to mine, and I guarantee we won’t have a single problem. Just that easy.”

A clear, down to earth message but-- but it’s not enough. It’s not enough because Oikawa still glares up at him, infuriatingly defiant as ever and Iwaizumi instinctively takes half a step closer, enough for them to breathe one another’s air, and somehow the shadows on Oikawa’s face become even sharper. Dangerous.

“You’re right about one thing,” Iwaizumi says curtly. Quiet. “We happen to be ‘roommates’-- but that’s it. Don’t go looking for anything more, because I have nothing to offer to someone like you, King.”

Iwaizumi smiles then, a fake kind of smile that he’s already seen one too many times on this face before him, and says, “Touché?”

Something in those brown eyes flicker. Iwaizumi turns and leaves, and Oikawa doesn’t chase after him again.

***

"Really?"

“Yes, really.”

“ _That_ bad?”

“Why would I be lying right now?”

Matsukawa squeezes his eyes shut, ruffling his short hair roughly as they walk.

“I just,” he says incredulously, then pulls up his jacket sleeve to look at his watch. “It was, what, a solid half hour after we left the food court? You guys brawled it out within _twenty minutes_ of meeting each other?”

Even less than that, Iwaizumi thinks, but he doesn't dare say it.

Instead, Iwaizumi sniffs, “We didn’t ‘brawl it out’ dumbass, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to stay there longer than necessary. Some people might’ve clocked him for that holier-than-thou attitude he showed off.”

Matsukawa snorts, shaking his head with a smile. “Unbelieveable. There’s the King for you.”

“No shit.”

They walk in a comfortable silence after that, their shoes plodding noisily against the wet concrete, but Iwaizumi’s face remains twisted in a scowl. Despite it being nearly two hours after meeting Oikawa (it was damn hard to pinpoint Matsukawa’s location in the entire university), his sour mood remains.

Maybe what he said was uncalled for, _maybe_ , but on the other hand hopefully that puts an end to Oikawa’s antics before it can get any worse. He sure as hell isn’t going to apologize for what he said, though. It was in the heat of the moment and Oikawa got what he deserved and why is Iwaizumi even feeling remotely bad about it anyways? Too late to dwell on it now.

“What’s the time?” Iwaizumi asks as the building they walk towards comes closer and closer. Matsukawa pulls up his sleeve again.

“Quarter to seven.”

Iwaizumi frowns. “Doesn’t this store close at eight or something?”

A pause.

“Shit, you’re right.” Matsukawa picks up the pace and Iwaizumi easily follows. “But I _have_ to get a new bag today; my other one is completely destroyed by water damage.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Iwaizumi sighs as they climb the building’s steps and reach the door, quickly walking inside. A few other students are scattered throughout the bookstore, picking up a few of their textbooks or looking at souvenirs to send home to families. It smells of cinnamon and books and maybe even a café, and if Iwaizumi wasn’t in such a bad mood then maybe he would’ve taken a moment to appreciate the relaxed atmosphere.

“Why am I even out here running these errands with you,” Iwaizumi mutters half-heartedly as they close in on an aisle with hats and T-shirts and bags embroidered with the university’s icon. Matsukawa begins shuffling through the shoulderbags, shooting Iwaizumi a look in the process.

“Who was the one who came looking for me, again?” he says and the other rolls his eyes.

“Don’t be feeling cocky. If you were the one to meet him, you’d want to be with just about anyone else, too.”

“Still makes no sense,” Matsukawa mumbles. “I mean, I know he isn’t necessarily a guy with good judgment, but you can’t possibly make such a stone-cold opinion on him seconds after meeting.”

“It was too easy.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I take pride in that.”

Matsukawa reaches out to hit him but Iwaizumi dodges it naturally, leaving the former to mutter beneath his breath as he pulls out the bag of his choice-- then groans.

“Sixty dollars, are you fucking me?” Matsukawa grinds out between clenched teeth, flipping the price tag over and over again as if it’ll change if he wills it to. “The stitching on this bag better be made of damn gold.”

“That’s what you get when you get to college,” Iwaizumi says indifferently, and Matsukawa curses one last time before deciding it’s sorta-kinda worth it. They begin towards the front of the store to pay, both men giving off terrible vibes that have fellow students giving them second glances. Even the employees seem to smile just that much bigger when they reach the counter.

“But, anyways,” Matsukawa says after grumpily handing the cashier the money, “What are you going to do about tonight?”

“What about tonight?” Iwaizumi asks.

“You know.”

“No, I don’t.”

Giving his thanks to the employee, Matsukawa grabs his new bag and they both make their way out of the bookstore along with a few stray others, the wet evening air hitting them both in the face. As they walk out of earshot of others, Matsukawa continues.

“Looks like you forgot that you gave Oikawa an earful before just turning your back on him,” he says. Iwaizumi gives him a look.

“Am I supposed to worry about that?” he asks dubiously.

“I mean, if you’re chill with sitting in complete awkward silence for the rest of the year every time you go back to your dorm, I guess you do have nothing to worry about.”

Iwaizumi huffs, shoving his hands in his pockets. “He’ll get over it,” he declares. “If he’s too sensitive to handle a little bit of criticism, then we’ll have other problems to deal with.”

Matsukawa smirks deviously, glancing at the other. “You mean, problems other than the whole ‘prostitution’ situation?”

“We’ve only been on campus half a day,” Iwaizumi says, irritated. “He can’t possibly already be making connections that fast.”

“Fine, I'll give you that. But when that time does come?”

Iwaizumi sighs, thoroughly irritated. “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it, alright?”

“Okey-dokey, whatever you say,” Matsukawa monotones and the disbelief is obvious in his voice. Iwaizumi frowns. “But, uh, if anything…”

He pauses as they reach a crossroads in the sidewalk; one path leads to Iwaizumi’s building and the other to Matsukawa, and they stop before splitting for the night. Matsukawa rubs the back of his neck in exhaustion.

“Not sure how to put it,” he says through a yawn, “but I guess the best way to say it is, don’t be too hard on the guy. Maybe he doesn’t have bad intentions; maybe he’s just bad with people, y’know? You are too. Now that I think about it, no wonder you two didn’t get along...”

Iwaizumi’s brow furrows as he mutters, “Who’s side are you on?”

“Hey, I’m just saying,” Matsukawa replies with a damn annoying smile, “Both of your first years here will suck ass if you can’t even stand to breathe each other’s air. Wouldn't it be worth it for you two to suck up your pride and get on with it?”

_No… Yes? Fuck, I don't know._

“Yeah, I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, Therapist-kun.”

Matsukawa chuckles at the dark retort, then turns to begin walking to his own dormitory. “Glad I could help,” he says over his shoulder. “By the way, room’s 1367 if you ever need me when one of his ‘friends’ visit!”

“Like hell I’d come to you,” Iwaizumi says, and he’s not quite sure whether or not Matsukawa heard him, but it’s fine either way. He doesn’t mean it, after all. Having someone to rely on is definitely nice-- though he’d never say that out loud.

Mulling that thought over a few times (because since when did he become so soft?), Iwaizumi begins to trudge back to East Building. There isn’t much else to go, anyways. And despite his first introductory class being in the early afternoon tomorrow, he’d much rather head straight to bed than deal with Oikawa’s shit and gain an even larger headache than what he already feels coming on. Great. No meds, still.

But ten minutes later, when the campus grounds have begun to clear and the tapping of Iwaizumi’s shoes against the hallway in the East Building seem extra loud in his ears, he takes a quiet breath, unlocks the door to his (their?) room, steps inside, and is greeted with--

nothing.

Iwaizumi lets out a single, bitter chuckle as he slips off his shoes, his coat.

Looks like the great King ran away. What a concept.

But Iwaizumi doesn’t dwell on it too long. What's the point? The guy has to come back sooner or later. Instead he places a few spare blankets from the wardrobe onto his bed (he had the decency to leave some sheets behind for the Bastard, too), pulls off his shirt, and damnnear falls on the mattress. Relief.

And by the time Oikawa returns entirely too late that night, Iwaizumi is fast asleep-- and too far gone to feel the weight of a pair of brown eyes on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tension has never tasted so good.
> 
> http://tealiqhts.tumblr.com


	3. Pillow Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think,” he says, musingly, “you underestimate the power of reputation, Iwaizumi-kun.”

Iwaizumi was never good with early mornings. Bleary eyes, too-bright lights, and blaring alarm clocks were never his cup of tea-- and never would be, actually. 

Which is  _ exactly  _ why college is a blessing for the weary, because afternoon classes must’ve been crafted by the heavens themselves. 

He wakes with a groan and a stretch, feeling the comfort of the twin-sized bed billow around him. Half of the blanket had slumped to the floor while only a quarter of his head still lies on the pillow, but as far as Iwaizumi knows, those are only signs of a good night’s rest. He’d best savour it while he can.

Yawning, some part of him praises his Past Self for choosing the bed furthest from the window (which, in extension, means away from the _sunlight_ currently invading the further half of the room) while the other part of him grimaces over the fact that his hand comes up empty after searching the bedsheets for a phone that isn’t there. 

God knows what time it is. He could've already overslept his first class without even knowing it.  _ And  _ he’ll have to reprint his schedule in the dorm’s common area before doing anything else.

He groans. Life really has a funny way of making his existence hell, doesn’t it.

“I can feel your negativity from all the way across the room, you know.”

Iwaizumi blinks over to look at him, slow and uninterested. On the other end of the room Oikawa lies on his side, hair smushed up against his pillow and eyes staring back as good as they get. His voice had sounded rough, a little raspy, and there’s something about the lingering tiredness on his face that gives Iwaizumi the notion that the King hadn’t slept all that well last night. 

_ Good. _

“Well,” Iwaizumi sighs, low, “good to know that you can read auras, too. Add that to the checklist of The Roommate I Never Asked For.”

Oikawa watches him for a long moment. “No,” he says in a voice too slow to be inviting, yet too neutral to be intimidating. Cold. “Anyone can tell from that animalistic groan. It’s only called common sense.”

“Let me guess,” Iwaizumi wonders, tapping the edge of his chin as if in deep thought. “Is that also something that I should “quickly learn”? Or maybe, in your eyes, am I too incompetent to understand?”

No response.

Ah, shit. If he were from the outside looking in, Iwaizumi would’ve promptly smacked himself across the head for deliberately picking a fight-- but he isn’t, and he won’t  _ ever be _ as long as he’s enrolled in this university and, honestly, looking at the darkening face glaring back at him across the room-- he doesn’t necessarily blame himself, either. After all, he wasn't the one who chased his roommate down the hall, spouting order after order of what  _ he  _ wanted and what  _ he  _ expected without restraint.

_ If anything, this asshole deserves it. _

He comforts himself in that thought.

But the comfort is short-lived because Oikawa suddenly laughs; a single, desolate chuckle, and says lightly, “Are you always this grumpy in the morning, Iwaizumi-kun?”

Iwaizumi, on the other hand, isn’t amused in the slightest. “Maybe since we’re stuck together, you can find your own answer.”

Oikawa makes a face. “You mean I have to put up with you, Grumpy Gills,  _ every _ morning?” 

His voice is different. Less cold, and more carefree. He turns to stuff his face in his pillow, his wild mess of hair poking out every which way. A few strands catch the light of the sun filtering through the window’s blinds as his voice teasingly muffles, “No fun, you know that?”

It’s almost amazing, in the worst way possible, how he can shift between two personalities so quickly, and so flawlessly. It’s as if he doesn’t give two shits about anything that happened between them, everything that was said (or rather,  _ spat) _ , only a day ago. Oikawa’s voice is light, unassuming. Tired.

Iwaizumi’s eyes skim the body snuggled beneath the bedsheets. In the distance, someone in the hallway laughs with their friend. 

If only it were this peaceful yesterday. Then maybe they wouldn't find it so big of a pill to swallow just to wake up in the same room.

_ Maybe. _

Iwaizumi looks away, rolling onto his back and closing his eyes. He considers it,  _ really  _ considers it, and then sighs. Fuck it.

“Are  _ you _ always this ugly in the morning?”

The worst case of bedhead he’d ever seen, the slight squinting of eyes too tired to function correctly, crumpled clothes that had been long forgotten before their careless owner climbed into bed for the night-- Iwaizumi thinks there’s enough truth in his half-hearted tease. It's as close to friendship (or rather, acquaintanceship) as they've gotten. And yet, painfully, there isn’t a response for a long moment. 

But then there’s a second round of laughter, this time longer and a little more forgiving. Light. 

_ And surprised. _

“I guess since we’re stuck together,” Oikawa begins with a smile and a shrug, and Iwaizumi opens his eyes just in time to see them both happen, beneath the light of the window, in the morning’s quiet of their little bedroom, just between the two of them. 

Entrancing, almost.

“I’d rather not find out for myself,” Iwaizumi mutters near-inaudibly.

He only receives a faded smile in response before Oikawa closes his eyes, burrowing back into his pillow. 

* * *

 

Iwaizumi frowns distastefully as he compares the two pieces of paper. 

“You know,” he sighs, long and woefully, setting down the two class schedules,“I’d rather not spend a whole extra hour stuck in the same room as you twice every week.”

“Oh, boo hoo,” Matsukawa gives him a mock pouting face as he spares a moment to look up from his laptop. “Whaddya want me to do, drop out of the class?”

Iwaizumi stirs his drink with the straw. “If I add ‘please’, would you actually do it?”

“Ha ha, fuck you too.”

“Take me to dinner first you brute.”

“Har-dee-har-har. I swear to god I am  _ this _ close to single handedly beati--”

“Beating the shit out of me, yeah yeah,” Iwaizumi waves off. “Heard it once, will hear it again. Anyways, are you done with your emails yet, dinosaur? I’m starving.”

Matsukawa shakes his head. “Almost. He says the wifi’s terrible at the station, so it’s taking him forever to respond. And--” He shoots him a look, “Sorry to break it to your uncivilized ass, pal, but people  _ do  _ still use email.”

“In the Stone Age, maybe.”

Matsukawa laughs. “Don’t get me wrong, I have no problem with you offering to buy me a new phone.”

“Well,” Iwaizumi sighs, putting down his drink, “you do have a point there.”

Matsukawa snorts in agreement as he continues his typing, finishing up his email. As Iwaizumi waits idly, chewing the cheap plastic straw between his teeth, something catches his eye and he blinks twice just to be sure he saw it right.

_ Is that…? _

“Uh,” he starts, taking the straw out of his mouth to point at Matsukawa’s jacket, “What the hell is all of that on your sleeves?”

Confused, Matsukawa looks down to see what he’s indicating. All along the grey fabric of his jacket are tiny pieces of white hair, sticking stubbornly from the zipper to the hoodie and all the way back again.

Matsukawa only looks at it once before shrugging, going back to his laptop.

“Cat hair.”

“ _ Cat _ hair?” Iwaizumi almost laughs. “I never thought you were a cat person.”

Matsukawa frowns. “I'm not. Hate them, actually.”

“Then why is it all over you?”

“Long story.”

Matsukawa leaves it at that, punching in the last few letters before abruptly clicking Send. Iwaizumi only smiles quietly to himself as the other slips his laptop back into his bag.

“Alright, let’s eat,” Matsukawa announces with a long stretch of the arms. “He says he’s on his way, and I’ve told him where we are. Just keep an eye out.”

“For who again, exactly?” Iwaizumi asks with a raised brow. There are a lot of people of all shapes and sizes in this large food court, and being asked to pick out one in particular is like finding a needle in a haystack, as far as he sees it. “You know that I have no idea who you’re talking about, right?”

“Oh, you’ll know him when you see him, trust me. He’s… strange.” Matsukawa pauses. “A good guy, I mean, but just a little strange.”

Iwaizumi blinks. “Strange as in…?”

“As in the quiet, strong type who hates people but loves their attention anyways.  _ That  _ kind of strange.”

“Ah yes,” Iwaizumi smiles plastically, “my  _ favorite _ type of person.”

“That’s pretty broad, considering you’re not a people-person in the first place.”

“I’ll give you that one.”

“But just to be sure, I’ll warn you about one of two things,” Matsukawa continues. “He’s not the most open guy you’ll meet but he’s decent enough. I spent the past three years with him, so he’s not too shitty. And as soon as you get talking to him-- like,  _ really  _ talking-- you’ll learn about shit you never even thought about. So hopefully you won't make yourself seem like too much of an asshole and have him clam up from the start.”

That’s… increasingly odd. Iwaizumi only nods. He never had Matsukawa down as an insighted being.

“And, the second thing?”

“Your  _ bestest friend forever _ is coming our way.”

Suddenly the smile on Matsukawa’s face is replaced by the smuggest, cockiest, most eagerly anticipating grin that Iwaizumi ever had the displeasure of viewing, and it becomes clear that there can only be one person in the world approaching them. 

Iwaizumi turns around in his chair.

_ Sure enough… _

He doesn’t wave back when Oikawa does. 

“What do you need, Oikawa?” Iwaizumi asks bluntly as soon as Oikawa is in hearing distance, and the latter immediately frowns in distaste and shoves his hands into his faded blue hoodie, coming to a stop.

He looks taller, somehow. At least his hair looks better.

“So mean, Iwaizumi-kun,” Oikawa complains. “Can I not talk to my own roommate?”

“Yeah Iwaizumi-kun you brute, geez,” Matsukawa snorts as if disgusted, but there’s a certain note of mocking laughter in his voice that Iwaizumi can’t miss, and it earns him a much-deserved kick under the table. “ _ Christ _ \--!”

“You  _ look  _ like you want something, is all,” Iwaizumi continues, ignoring Matsukawa’s cries. “What is it?”

Oikawa’s eyes search his own for a moment, before the former finally nods in acknowledgment.

“Yeah, okay, I do have something to ask you real quickly before class,” he admits plainly. But then-- doesn’t continue.

“And?” Iwaizumi urges, and it isn’t until the word is out of his mouth does he realize that Oikawa is no longer looking at him, but rather at his tablemate. Oh, great. Somehow, it feels like offering his first born son up to the devil.

“I don’t think we’ve met before,” Oikawa says. There’s something strange about that simple greeting, though Iwaizumi doesn’t really know what, so he shrugs it off just as quickly. Oikawa reaches out a hand. “Oikawa Tooru.”

Pulling up his own hand from where it was rubbing his bruised shin, Matsukawa initiates the handshake. “Matsukawa Issei.”

“Issei.” The word seems to roll off Oikawa’s tongue, as if he’s inspecting it. Testing it. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

“Great, you’re  _ ever _ the gentleman, Matsukawa,” Iwaizumi comments irritably. He tries his best to ignore the small ‘ _ More of a gentleman than you’ll ever be’  _ comment thrown back at him. “Now what is it, Oikawa?”

“Iwaizumi-kun’s so impatient,” Oikawa huffs in a whine, almost instantly reverting back to the person Iwaizumi already knew too well. “And to think we had a heart to heart just this morning.”

Iwaizumi snorts. “Hardly a heart to heart. What part of ‘grumpy’ and ‘ugly’ made you think anything was heartfelt?”

Oikawa pouts. Matsukawa, clueless, only smirks. “Damn, dude. Who loosened your screws?”

God knows. But one thing’s for sure, and that’s that Iwaizumi knows he's on edge. The reason why is a whole other topic for a whole other day. No matter what, the sooner Oikawa’s gone, the better. 

“Okay, fine, it is what it is. But,” Oikawa says, looking between the two before landing on Iwaizumi. “Can I pull you aside?”

Warning bells, everywhere, and Iwaizumi has no choice but to hear them. Dammit.

“Why?”

“To  _ talk,  _ obviously,” Oikawa says. “It’ll only be ten seconds, I promise.”

Matsukawa lazily rubs at his nose. “I dunno, he may not last that long.”

“Hey, Fur Coat,” Iwaizumi points a declaring finger at him, “I’m really starting to hate you right about now.”

Matsukawa gasps, hand to his heart. “My  _ god,  _ oh no, that’s the  _ last _ thing I want-- how will I  _ ever go on _ \--?!”

And then, the dumbass he is, Matsukawa only laughs blaringly when Iwaizumi fully sits up to reach across the table and take a swing at his upper arm. Make it two swings. Or, maybe three. Just to be sure.

“Ow--! Christ, okay,  _ ow _ , okay!” Matsukawa pleads between laughs, and Iwaizumi fights the urge to let his smile become contagious as he sits back in his chair, satisfied for the time being.

“Next time,” he threatens (almost) half-heartedly, “Next time I swear I’ll--”

“Iwaizumi-kun.”

He looks up to see Oikawa’s eyes pointedly waiting for him, face expressionless. Oh, yeah. Right.

Looks like there’ll be no other way around this.

“Alright, fine,” Iwaizumi gives in, standing up. “I’ll be back.”

Matsukawa waves them off, pulling his laptop back out onto the table without a care. “Yeah yeah, take your time.”

Oikawa begins walking as soon as the last word is out of his mouth, and Iwaizumi follows easily. Seeing as morning classes are still in session, there aren’t as many people crowding the food court today. The two easily make their way to the closest corner, beside an empty smoothie shop. 

“Now what’s so deathly important that you had to drag me away?” Iwaizumi wonders, leaning against the wall. Oikawa considers it for a moment before obviously deciding  _ fuck it  _ and gets right down to it.

“I’ll need to borrow our room for three hours tonight and tomorrow night.”

Blunt, straight to the point. Iwaizumi blinks.

“What do---”

“You  _ know _ what I mean,” Oikawa answers before it’s even asked. “I know you do.”

Yeah, he does, and it only makes matters worse. For a moment, Iwaizumi wishes he were a little more clueless, a little less caring in life. But, he was hardwired this way. Unfortunately.

“I--” Iwaizumi begins a little bewilderedly, looking around for something he’s sure doesn’t exist, “It’s been, what, a  _ day _ ?”

“And a half,” Oikawa adds a little pointedly. As if that little fact makes everything magically better. Iwaizumi scowls. 

“Fine. It’s been ‘a day and a half’, but how the  _ hell  _ do you already…?” He makes a wild little hand gesture, finishing the sentence he never really knew how to phrase in the first place. 

Oikawa only smiles.

“I think,” he says, musingly, “you underestimate the power of reputation, Iwaizumi-kun.”

Iwaizumi finds the urge to dig his nails into his palms overwhelming. 

“Can’t you just find somewhere else?” he demands. “I don’t want that shit in my own damn room.”

“We won’t touch anything of yours, not even your bed,” Oikawa says clearly. “I’ll always clean up and air out the room afterwards. And... no, I can’t. Everyone else has their own roommates that we can’t kick out without being caught, so I’m relying on you, Iwaizumi-kun.”

“How do you know I won't turn you in? We haven't exactly been on the best terms, in case you'd forgotten.”

Oikawa rolls his eyes, as if the mere mention of the situation is a bother. “So, what? We’re going to walk on glass for the rest of the year every time we’re around each other? Holding grudges is a waste of time, honestly.”

“Maybe,” Iwaizumi says a bit lowly, “but unfortunately, I don't live by the same rules as you.”

Oikawa’s jaw works. 

“... That's fine, as long as we get the same end result.”

Impressive. Taken aback by the lack of argument, Iwaizumi shuts his mouth. Somehow this conversation is quickly becoming more and more formal, like a speech given again and again to the same audience. Iwaizumi studies him closely, but nothing had changed in Oikawa’s eyes ever since they were at the table. 

_ This must be important to him. _

The thought alone makes something bile rise in his throat.

Sensing his hesitance, Oikawa pushes on.

“Three hours only,” he states. “From six to nine, right on the spot. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“And where am I supposed to go for those three hours?” Iwaizumi demands. “Just lounge around in the middle of school grounds until security catches me?”

“Matsukawa-san’s,” Oikawa says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Who says we’re that close?”

Oikawa snorts. “Trust me, you are. I can tell. I’m a people-person.”

There's that word again; people-person. Iwaizumi briefly wonders if someone like Oikawa is what Matsukawa had in mind when he thought of “people-persons” because if so, no way in  _ hell. _

“He has a roommate, too, you know,” Iwaizumi challenges. “These dorm rooms weren’t exactly made to fit three people. And-- and what the hell do I even tell them? I have to go there tonight  _ and  _ tomorrow night? Did you even  _ consider _ the position I’m in?”

_ No, he didn’t, Pompous King.  _

“Wow, you’re so dramatic, Iwaizumi-kun,” Oikawa says amusedly. “We’re not girls. Just tell them you need a place to stay for a few hours, no big deal. I’m not asking you to sit around a campfire with them and throw a slumber party. You can come back afterwards, after all.”

Iwaizumi scowls in disgust. “Oh yeah, sure, I’ll just come  _ back  _ to the room that you’d just--”  _ whored yourself out in. _

No, he can’t say that. It isn’t his place, no matter how much he may despise the guy. It's a blessing and a curse to have morals, shit.

“Your choice,” Oikawa sighs dismissively. “You know, this is more of friendly advice than an order. I mean technically,” He looks up, a new glint in his eyes, “you could just stay and watch if you’re into that, Iwaizumi-kun.”

Iwaizumi glares back. “Fuck off.”

Oikawa shrugs, unshaken, taking a step away. “I assumed so. Well, I’m glad we’re in agreement.”

As he begins to walk away, Oikawa turns to do a lazy, two-fingered salute. “Have a good day, Iwaizumi-kun.”

Silent, Iwaizumi wonders the penalty for a public fist fight on school grounds the entire time he watches Oikawa’s back disappear into the crowd because, god dammit, he basically was just told off again, wasn’t he? Jerked around like a helpless, loyal dog on a leash.

_ Dammit! _

Turmoil in his head, Iwaizumi turns on his heel to stalk back to his table. It takes a few moments, as always, but then Iwaizumi looks up from where he was glaring holes into the ground, and finally notices the new head sitting across the table from Matsukawa. 

Black hair, blue eyes, almost skinny, but certainly tall, even as he sits. Iwaizumi takes a deep breath and approaches a little more calmly and less like he could kill anyone with a single swing. 

“Done already?” Matsukawa asks in surprise as soon as he notices him approaching. “Where’s--?”

“God knows,” Iwaizumi shoots. He’s done hearing that name, for now. “Besides, this your friend?”

He nods towards the other sitting at the table, who looks up at him slightly uninterested. Iwaizumi isn’t particularly bothered by this, though. He’s sure that’s what he himself looks like to everyone else, too. 

“Iwaizumi,” he introduces himself, and the other nods back.

“Kageyama.”

A low voice. Definitely not the most friendliest, but what can you do. Iwaizumi moves on.

“Apparently,” he mutters, turning back to Matsukawa, “I’ll be over at your dorm tonight at six, so you’d better be there.”

Matsukawa blinks. “Why? What’d he say? You look damn PO’d.”

“I’ll explain later.”

Maybe it’s the cold tone of his voice, the one that screams  _ let it drop now and forever hold your peace _ , or maybe it’s the weird atmosphere that suddenly descends over the three of them in an instant-- but whatever it is, Iwaizumi’s just grateful for the fact that Matsukawa lets it go at that. 

“Alright,” the latter says easily, getting up. Iwaizumi notices with an amused huff that he took off his cat-hair-infested jacket. “Hope you're hungry, Kageyama. I know I’m starving and  _ you _ ,” he nods towards Iwaizumi, “are looking a little hangry to me, pal.”

Iwaizumi raises a brow. “Hangry?”

Matsukawa grins and says, “Hangry. Hungry and angry. Ever heard of it?”

Rolling his eyes, Iwaizumi reaches down to grab his bag and slings it over his shoulder. 

“Yeah, let’s just go with that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jesus fucking christ im s o r r y, i’ll try to be better with updates i sWear i dont even have an excuse ughshjfksj and thank you for staying so kind to me with your kudos & comments even though I suCK
> 
> but bonus: does Hanamaki like cats? the answer is yes, yes he does
> 
> http://tealiqhts.tumblr.com


End file.
